Split in Two
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: O, how wonderful it is to be bad. O, dear badness explored by Matthias and a dark room. Dennor, M, oneshot.


**Split in Two**

**I do not own Hetalia**

**Lukas: Norway, Matthias: Denmark, Emil: Iceland**

**This is a branch of my other story Precious Roses (T) but you do not have to read it in order to understand this story, but this story may help you understand the other one. **

**This in no way is a representation of the Danish people, or any culture. Bad people come from everywhere. This story is not for me "dirty, lewd, licentious enjoyment" but to examine the nature of evil, in a manner of speaking. Having said this please do not read this if you are uncomfortable reading about this topic. **

**This is also nothing against the character of Matthias. (more info on why I chose him at bottom)**

The smudges

They were everywhere.

Dark, round, blurry smudges lined the wooden floorboards, like bruises. They were in a circle, marching around a perpetually cluttered space. The sofa was torn, its stuffing spewing out like innards. The curtains were drooping, exposing the outer, night world. Books, ripped, littered the space and an upturned table leaned precariously on its side. Matthias looked at it with a budding smile. Ah, bliss, ah sweet, tender bliss to derive from such a sight! Ah look at those bruises along the wall, so deep the floor would bleed had veins run under it but nothing but hard, unfeeling cement was beneath. Ah, delicate tendrils of darling passion tearing from the earth, towering, rising up like a buttress in the passion so evident only music could capture its essence.

Matthias stepped into the room, his hands dug deep into his loose pant pockets. He examined the room, top to bottom. It was cheap, but it was worked for. The owner, Lukas, had strived to make it the most beautiful and homey room he could. It worked, too. That is, until those smudges appeared and the terror was sewn and flourished now in his belly, now in his unreal womb, now in his brain; eating away at his sanity munch munch munch.

With his toe Matthias lifted one of the dead books. Its pages were spread out like fallen wings. The cover slid off when he titled it. The insides were naked to his eyes. YOUNG BOYS by PATRICIA DARLINGS, Matthias read. Shaking his head, he let his toe out of the tent and slipped back into the other room.

He passed the hallway, leaving the door to the study wide open, and went into the kitchen. Lukas sat there, reading quietly. Lukas's little brother sat nearby, playing with his sandwich offhandedly. Lukas was playing with a hair clip, in the shape of a cross, and pushed his straw-blonde hair back with it. His and Emil's parents were out for now, eating dinner perhaps. They lived in a separate part of the house. They knew about the smudged room, but said not a word.

When Matthias entered, his presence; hot, big, overwhelming, alerted the two. Emil stiffened and cowered all at once, wrapping inside himself and knotting up. Lukas looked over at him, unsmiling, but unchanging. Matthias lumbered over and sat down by the two, his burly shoulders shifting under his thin shirt. His hair was in every direction, his eyes wide, bright, a madman's. They hinted at something bad. Something unnaturally bad. Something so bad they can't even fathom how bad it is.

Lukas asked how Matthias was and Matthias responded that he was well all in a tough, manly voice. His jaw muscles twitched with every word, working each syllable and driving it up from his vocal cords, through his tube, and out his mouth like a bullet each finally crafted so nice so easy so accurate.

Matthias came from a rough family.

He was older than Lukas by some years, but his maturity was down there with him and his intelligence high above. His cousin hated him for a wrong he did him so many years ago he can't remember anymore what it was. Maybe it had to do with blood. Oh, succulent blood so rich and red red red, so creamy and slick that it sticks to the skin but passes through. It dries up, crisp and black, as though burned. The smell lingers on his finger tips and face. Some is on his lips but he doesn't like it. His cousin must have shed some that day, pouring it like a fountain as he screamed his little lungs raw. But then Matthias went home and Mum didn't care nor did pop because neither looked at him right. He was funny, they said, he was a funny guy ha ha ha ha. Maybe they knew he liked the bad stuff. Maybe he knew how seeing bad things made him happy and the screams were like music O sweet bliss. He moved in with Lukas, his boyfriend, some time ago because Lukas knew there was nowhere to go. Even when Matthias, captured by not any spirit but only his own raw will did him wrong Lukas never said a word. He took it and drank it up like a thousand kind words but they weren't very kind at all. They were mean and painful.

Emil watched him from the corner, his eyes wide and fearful. He hated Matthias, that was obvious, he hated living like this, so small and unnoticed, and yet noticed just enough to be done a wrong. Emil would later live with some other family who treated him right, and maybe fall in love someday with someone right pretty and tender to him. Emil picked up his sandwich with lettuce falling out and a tomato skin reaching out like a bloody hand and he munched it. Munch munch munch. His jaw worked and his small teeth pierced the bread, tore some off, and engulfed it into his being. Then it would go to his gullet and nutrients would be soaked up by the fleshy inner workings of his stomach and then passed on.

Matthias liked to cook, too. He liked to cook good food and make it for all. He cooked with knives and burned and hot, hot fire. It made him feel just as good as doing the old bad, O bliss, and it did no one no harm, unless he wanted to add a drop of arsenic or cyanide and watch someone's mouth bubble and then they fall to the ground so limp and drooling and vomiting then dying.

Lukas shut his book, his long fingers pushing against the covers, and the book went closed with a little puff of air escaping and brushing up a strand of hair that rose, like it was saying bye-bye and went back down. Lukas did not notice it. Matthias did. Matthias noticed many things. He noticed the freckles on Lukas's shoulders. He noticed the bend of Lukas's ear, he noticed the honeycomb network of his eyes, and he even noticed the little scrapes in the corners, the nails in the walls, the marks of a painting, the film of dust on everything untouched in oh so long, and maybe even sometimes he saw how Emil flinched when looking at him. Emil hadn't experience the bad, bad stuff, not yet, but he saw, O bliss, how it hurt how Lukas screamed, how much agony everyone went through.

Lukas stood and went down the hall. He always ignored the smudged room when he could, but he noticed light and shadows were too wrong and turned. His eyes caught sight of the room. They widened and he stopped breathing, going pale, going sick. O, agony. How it hurt to see the smudges, the blood stains on the wall, and to feel the pain inside of him. To feel the rubbing of skin, the stretching of it, the smack smack smacks, the blades driven into his clothing, into his flesh, and into his hair, cutting off something of a tuft and watching it fall to the floor so smoothly, gliding down like a feather while he moved back and forth and back and forth with the pressure and movement of pain and all at once compressing badness, O, my.

He touched his stomach and pressed on it, feeling the bruises there scream and holler in protest but not caring and pressing on and on, why, he felt split in two in that moment. Matthias walked up behind him and clapped a heavy hand to his shoulder and squeeze, squeezed so might another bruise come. Really Lukas was a beautiful person. A very pretty person indeed with smooth legs, like piano legs, but a flat stomach and a broad chest and soft arms and a body to touch and feel AND RIP AND TEAR AND DESTROY and hug and caress and kiss and soothe AND DEFILE AND MURDER AND

AND

AND

And what?

Matthias felt the Old Bad rising up in his throat like sick, but the sick felt good and he wasn't going to sick all over the floor and not on Lukas. Lukas sicked on him once when they did the old bad and it was from fear and pain and it was mixed with smooth blood. Matthias laughed aloud at the memory and then his hands touched Lukas's spine. Lukas shivered as the calloused fingers touched where his nerves would be, shooting signals to the head honcho brain up there sitting loftily in that old cranium. Matthias rubbed his neck and Lukas felt the pain again. Matthias curled his fingers around Lukas's neck and wanted to squeeze but he only bit his fingers in to smart and make a light red bruise.

Do you love me?

Lukas looked at him but didn't move otherwise. His knees would be knocking together in a moment. He could sense the Old Bad coming up inside Matthias like a storm, ready to destroy, to pummel.

Yes.

Is that a lie?

But Lukas couldn't answer because he was screaming. He was screaming so loud so horribly, so angrily that Matthias was taken back by surprise. Lukas was down on his knees and rocking pitifully. O, bliss. The pain rocketing through his body, the words toppling out one after the other from his mouth in a hurry to explain how he loved Matthias but he had done the Old Bad on him and been so rotten that it hurt, O it hurt! O, mercy, save me! O have gracious mercy upon me, Old Matthias, for I loved thee but thee did not love for within thine heart there hath been nothing to fuel the fire of love only to tamper it with inks so bloody they made the fire of loathing and hate. Wherefore, Matthias? Wherefore?

Burning the bridge under that flame, Matthias, wherefore? Doth thou knowest why I screameth in such agony? In such brutal, tortuous pain that I cannot feel my eyelids much more than two flaps of skin unconnected to me and doing a horrid job of blocking out the sight of your horrid face. O, mercy!

Matthias slapped him hard. The sound rung through the room, and kept ringing even after the echo died. Lukas held his cheek and blood trickled from his lips. Matthias wanted to do the Old Bad on him again but what was wanted instead of that, ramming into the Old Bad and dismissing it from his thoughts, was to drop and hug and apologize. But why do that? Matthias's heart was in knots, like Emil in fear, and he didn't know what to do. He wanted to love and nourish but he also wanted to pull and malnourish and he kicked Lukas's head hard. Lukas fell down and his ear bled, but he was not unconscious. The kick was not that hard. Matthias had missed. Then he bent down and kicked Lukas square in the stomach. Lukas lurched and wanted to make sick but his mouth was parched. Matthias, so confused, so hurt, so much that rope had bound itself around his throat and chest and compressed his feelings together so that he bent back down and took Lukas's dignity and tugged it away and did the Old Bad anyway, right there, with no mind to whatever else would happen.

For he, too, was split in two.

* * *

_I chose Matthias because I feel his character can branch into two different directions: of extreme good or extreme evil. I chose the latter for this story because I wanted to try something new. _

_Again, nothing against Matthias or his culture. _

_This is more against the human race._

_Thank you for reading._

_-PWW_


End file.
